


Shoot to Thrill

by havisham



Category: DCU, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alley Sex, Dead Robins, Dirty Jokes, Humor, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, birdboys, boy on boy wonders, the scaly panties society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... It's a dick joke, Dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoot to Thrill

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Porn Battle XIII, with the prompts incestuous, replacement and snark.

He is fighting now with his dead brother, who is neither dead, nor his brother.

There is struggle, a punch that hits right where it shouldn’t, and Dick falls to the ground, hard. The kid is good, better than what he had been before, or maybe Dick is just slower to react tonight, with his bad knee aching like a _bitch_.

At least that stupid helmet is gone. You gotta wonder about a guy who would voluntarily wear helmet that’s wired to explode, but really this is probably the least of Jason’s many, many problems.

The kid (isn’t a kid anymore, wasn’t much of one when he was still that Robin with those _thighs_ ) has grown up to be tall. Taller than Dick, which is annoying but not unexpected. Well, it is unexpected in a dead guy, but... Jason's got tousled black hair, and whatever rumors Dick has heard about him dying it, doesn't seem to be true. Jason also has on a red mask. He doesn’t look much like Dick, now. Then again, he had always been an imperfect replacement.

No, he looks like Bruce, which is more complicated and _weird._

Dick doesn’t want to think about right now.

It could have explained Bruce’s ... formerly strong attachment to Jason; Bruce loved to surround himself with people who looked like him. Dick suspects this is unconscious, or maybe it’s deliberate in ways he also doesn’t want to think about, probably ever.

Jason’s swinging that squiggly knife around. Every one of actions cries out, _hey, hey, pay attention to me._

That’s not new.

(Yes, there's a proper name for that knife, there always is, Dick will remember it when it's not being waved in his face.)

 _Fuck_ , he just wants to get home in one piece tonight.

And Jason is coming down to him, crouching down, laughing (not a villainous cackle, but close enough, like he’s got some personal insight into the most hilarious joke in the world), and shit, shit, shit — Dick knocks the knife away — and hears it land on the asphalt with a metallic clang.

But if Jason is planning head-butt him — if he is, _so help him, God —_

 

Wait.

Jason is _kissing_ him.

Which is. _Weird._

 

(So weird.)

He's kissing his not-dead-not-brother.

That's certainly better than being beaten up a zombie-near-sibling. (By a lot.) He’s not bad, Jason, at kissing, which another thing Dick would have never (known) thought of before today. It's also aggressive and needy, which are two things that Dick does associate with Jason Todd.

Dick isn’t exactly a stranger to post-fight make-outs — it’s times like these that he misses Kory the most — but, _usually_ , they don't come from the opposing team.

Jason pushes him hard against the wall, not breaking contact, his hands everywhere. Dick doesn't bite back the curse that comes to his lips. That shit _hurts_.

He notes that Jason has the meanest little smile on his face, as he gets up.

Dick can hear the crack of leather —

How much leather _is_ Jason wearing? He must be _burning_ up —

“Later, Boy Boner.” And Jason has the bad manners to flip him a bird before he disappears into the murky gloom.

Okay.

What Dick needs to do is: take several deep, calming breathes, then assess the situation, and report back. He gets up, painfully, slowly, and taps lightly on his communicator.

“O, you got me?” he asks, moving up (line taunt in his hands) and away.

The wind feels good on his hot face.

“Yep.”

He has to ask. “Does he do this … To the others?”

“What? Does the notorious Red Hood waylay honest vigilantes, fight them, and then proceed to make out with them? You think that’s his dastardly plan?”

Dick is soaring through the air. He can't shrug, and Babs wouldn't see if he did, so...

Babs makes an harrumphing noise, which means she's considering it.

“B does go offline after some of their fights...” _Dot, dot, dot._ Babs is very good at making insinuations that even Dick can’t miss. God. The images. They makes Dick’s head swim. Over the comm, Babs makes a humming noise that could be laughter.

“The _dastard_ ,” he says, with real feeling. He doesn’t even need to hear Babs’ groan from the other end of the line to know he had made an impact.

+

And Dick’s skin begins to blacken and curl itself.

He knows, distantly, that this isn’t really what’s happening, he's not in flames. The antidote is working its way through his system. Scarecrow is a pile on the floor, ready to be shipped back to Arkham. In between observing his charring skin, he wonders vaguely who answered his distress call, when a standard drug bust went south. He expects Tim, or maybe even Bruce to have come through for him.

But he’s not too surprised to see Jason there.

Not the Red Hood in all his biker fetish glory.

But Jason as Robin, broken and bloody, his skin sagging over bones that have been beaten soft. Dick has seen this Jason often enough, in his more vivid dreams.

“I don’t...” _I'm sorry._

He wakes up back in the cave with a pounding headache and burnt taste on his tongue.

 

+

 

Alley-way sex may sound sexy, for some, especially in the (glittering) world of nocturnal vigilantism. And Gotham does have the (dubious) honor of having highest number of incidents of back-alley fucking of anywhere in the country, if not the world, though that’s never going to make it on to any of the admittedly anemic tourist brochures that the Gotham Tourism Board puts out.

(Bruce Wayne, of course, is a member the board.)

The current slogan printed on those brochures is — “Gotham — New York wishes it could be this hardcore!” It's an somewhat transparent effort to attract naive thrill-seekers to this gloomy city...

But despite the press, alley-way sex isn’t sexy.

(It isn’t.)

The bricks dig into you back, there’s always a lingering smell of garbage, and sometimes that pile of cardboard is actually a homeless man. Voyeurism isn’t one of Dick’s kinks. Okay, well, _yes, it is_ — you don't grow up a Bat without at least getting used to being watched. But when it’s done by old dudes who smell like old piss? _Not_ a good scene.

(They hoot at them.)

(Not that Dick really blames them or anything.)

But. The thing is. Jason gives _amazing_ head.

(It’s a fact. A troubling, troubling fact, like most facts about Jason.)

And so in a relatively clean and (seemingly) empty alleyway, deep in the tangled backstreets of Gotham, Red Hood and Nightwing, somehow, kind of, sort of, end up _there_ , together, at the same time. And Jason is on his knees (and Dick’s own left knee gives a twinge in sympathy), but Jason doesn’t seem to care, as he pushes Dick against the wall. Dick scrabbles to disengage the shocks in his suit. And since it’s a one-piece, it peels down and down, until it puddles around his knees.

Dick always seems to be the one who gets to be naked for these things, although he doesn’t actually mind. Much.

Jason hums impatiently, his grip is solid, his fingers digging into the firm muscle of Dick's thighs. He doesn’t take his mask off, but then again neither does Dick. They aren’t at that place yet, where they can look at each other in the eye when they do this. Masks help, Dick thinks with increasing desperation, as Jason delicately parts his lips and takes his cock into his mouth.

Plausible deniability, that’s what it was. A dark-haired dude in a mask giving a blowjob to another dark-haired dude in a mask? C’mon, this is Gotham, _that must happen all the time._

 

(Dick’s not really fooling anyone. Especially not himself.)

Jason sucks roughly, he's very intent on getting Dick off, like it’s some sort of a competition. Dick can’t help but moan, a little. Thrust, a little. His world focus sharply on Jason’s mouth, its warmth and its heat coalesces into a desperate shudder that runs through him.

He’s swearing, spitting out with words that he didn’t know that that he knew, much less whisper breathlessly in the dark. His hands are filled with Jason's hair, which he yanks at, hard. He doesn't care if it hurts Jason, he doesn't. He comes, flush with embarrassment, burning with pleasure. He feels that he shouldn’t notice if Jason swallows or not.

The alley is silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing.

He tries not to stare too hard at Jason’s reddened mouth, or watch his pink tongue as it darts out and carelessly-carefully out. He rises deliberately — ignores Dick’s proffered hand, like he doesn't need anyone's help, _ever_ — and roughly pulls Dick into a kiss that leaves him gasping.

It's not —

God, Bruce would be so pissed, if he knew —

 _It's impossible that he_ doesn't _know —_

“Your life is one long dick joke, brother.” Jason bites down hard on Dick’s neck.

Dick sighs, shivers. That's nothing he's not heard before.

+

 

He’s not sure that he could explain to anyone, not to Babs, or Tim, and certainly not to Bruce, how (why) this thing with Jason started. (Had continued.) It’s not something formal — they don’t go on dates, after all — and they fight as often (more often) than they fuck.

Jason still kills people. Dick wants to say he’s working on it. They are working it, Jason just doesn’t know it yet.

The fact of the matter is that, something fits right between them.

Something feels right.

Or wrong, in the right way.

It’s not normal, but Dick spent his his childhood swinging around a dangerous city without pants on. For him, normalcy is something that happens to other people.

What happens to him is Jason, who isn’t, okay, who isn’t all there (none of them are, look at Bruce, no, don’t look at him), and who is actually probably the most jerky person Dick has slept with.  Well, he doesn’t actually have that … good of a record with that sort of thing.

But when Jason pulls him down, flush and hot, it’s not sweetness Dick looks for.

It’s not _sweetness_ he wants.


End file.
